


Orbit a Fading Star

by Salazaeus



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: From Pink Steven's Perspective, Gen, Mostly Canon Compliant but Also Not, Pink Steven is NOT Evil and I Will Die On This Hill, Starts Mid-CYM, Steven Has Many Issues and Represses Them All, There's Some Big-Boy Trauma in Here so Be Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28166256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salazaeus/pseuds/Salazaeus
Summary: Steven is torn apart. Literally.There is a chasm separating his halves, bigger than the space between them. Bigger than anyone could have realized.Silence can speak louder than words, and crystal can break as easily as flesh.Mending is a journey, not an end.It takes two to become whole.
Relationships: Pink Steven Universe & Everyone, Pink Steven Universe & Steven Universe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Orbit a Fading Star

**Author's Note:**

> CYM but more angst. It’s been done many times before, yes, but this is my turn.  
> Unrelated from my other SU work.
> 
> More of a character study than a story, but I don't do either by halves. This is also an exploration of some of my own experiences, which will become clear later on, so please be respectful.  
> Updates will come sporadically. Please don't hold your breath.

He was; then wasn’t. Pain, agony beyond his deepest belief, snapping the strands of reality itself; then nothing. Then everything.

Who- Where? Steven. _Steven!_ His eyes sought out his other half; he could feel the waves of agony rolling off him, small and frail as he leant against another form. This was wrong.

Steven- the other Steven- reached for him, desperate, clawing at the air as if it would negate the space between them- between _himself_. Syllables spilled from his other’s mouth, flitting and fleeting like butterflies. He needed him. He needed _him._

He stepped forward; the gap between himself drew ever-so-slightly smaller. Not enough.

Then a sound: voice: White. White _Diamond_. She was irrelevant. He needed him. He needed to be _whole._

“-Pink?” White demanded. His thoughts paused, stopped, rewound the sentence before that _horrible_ word.

“She’s gone,” he stated. Definitive. It was truth.

He took another step. Not enough. Another.

His other half stepped too; fell. _Pain._ No, _his_ pain, a thick, roiling cloud of mortal fear and confusion, tumbling through the infinite space between himself. This was wrong.

White kept talking, demanding, questions that were answered eons ago, angry and brittle like frost on exposed flesh. Deep like split marble. It was too much.

“SHE’S GONE,” he repeated, no longer a statement but a decree, a force to stagger even White herself. She wouldn’t ask again.

Another wave of pain hit him; he turned back to himself. _Pain_ \- too loud, too exacting. His lips thinned. This was _wrong_.

He needed himself. He needed him like the moon needs the earth: a tether keeping him in orbit, safe from the endless abyss of space beyond. He was floating, aimless, with nothing to hold on to. Too far away. Too far from himself.

Something cold and unpleasant snaked through his limbs, a broken memory of a half-formed dream. His steps came faster; so too did White’s thundering bellows.

Another being- Connie- Safe- picked his self up, carrying him. A step closer. Not enough. Never enough.

A harsh light- _Attack_ \- came from behind- From _White_. He brough forth his shield, barely more than a thought. She was trying to stop him. He wouldn’t- _couldn’t_ be stopped.

The light retreated. He released his shield, stepped forward again. Anger permeated the room, ancient and righteous: unmistakably _hers_. He raised his shield once more. The light came again, then stopped again.

White wasn’t finished. She brought forth another attack, this time from all sides. He waited, but the light wasn’t stopping. It needed to stop. He needed to reach himself. He _needed-_

He’d had enough. White’s attempts to halt him were unacceptable. The gap between himself stretched too large, a chasm of pain growing by the moment, and at its end, death. _What was he without-? He was so far, so far-_

He turned, redirecting the power his shield was absorbing outward. Gems stumbled, falling around him like flightless birds, stones sinking in the sea. White knelt, a throne toppled. She was finished.

Notes of speech tumbled from his other self, riding a tide of fear- fear for others. This was _wrong_.

He stepped closer- _so close now_ \- they were almost together again. He reached out, and his self reached back. Their hands met- touching- _together_.

He lifted himself from the other human’s arms, cradling him close. His half flung his arms around his neck, laughing, crying, joy and fear and hope and pain all entwining in an intoxicating flurry that made his mind numb.

And then it stopped. His other self drew back, a hand caressing his face, his panic flooding his senses. They were together, yet- _not_. This was wrong. They should have fused- they should be _Steven._

Sounds drifted from his half’s mouth, chaotic and laden with thorns. Were they words? He parsed the noises, a cacophony of intermingling utterances; he didn’t understand- _couldn’t_ understand. He projected his strength- his _self-_ into his human counterpart, stemming the tide of death that had drawn ever closer- _too close_. It felt better, their- _his_ existence easier- if only a little.

White moved from where she had fallen, and in an instant his shield was raised. She would not separate them again. Never again.

Anger- anger and confusion and horror and _prejudice_ radiated from the enemy that had so cruelly torn him apart, rent flesh from stone like they were not one and the same. Venom dripped from her words, burning holes in reality around them, constricting the safety of each other’s arms. Safe- he must keep him _safe._

Something hot and bitter burned within him, igniting his overworked senses to an agonizing blaze. White was a threat. This was unacceptable. She would not hurt him again. He would not _let_ her.

His shield drew in around them, pulsing with an energy he’d never known, then burst forward, a thousand razor-shards with the single purpose of _ending._ They struck. White had no shield to save her, no expectation of a counterattack. Her mistake.

For a moment shock swarmed forth from the diamond and human both, then the briefest flicker of fear, then, with a mighty force that shook the foundations of the room, White’s gem fell to the empty floor.

His other half yelled, unpleasant noises poking holes in his array of thoughts, letting the air escape, leaving them deflated and empty. He ignored the senseless cacophony, ascending the steps and, with a gentle touch - lest he unsettle the one in his arms - set a bubble about the massive gem. There. They were _safe_.

Color bled into the room, the gray pallor fading from the gems under _her_ control. Tears fell from his other half’s eyes, guilt welling like the ocean tide. Why?

Eyes opened, many, then focused on them. On _him._ His human half. His Steven. A sudden avalanche of emotions poured forth; he nearly stumbled beneath the weight of them, reflexively conjuring a shield as his thoughts twisted and shredded beneath the onslaught.

More yelling assaulted his ears, and his grip grew stronger on his other half. What did they want? Were they trying to separate them again? Why were they so _loud?_

He stepped back as his other half reached forward, a surge of worry for those beyond his shield washing over him. He looked down at his human half, his other self. He was faded, pale and ill without the support- the _wholeness_ he needed. Aching with the emptiness of their missing pieces. Even being so close, he wasn’t enough. Steven needed more.

He leaned in, brushing a kiss against his other’s forehead. A momentary surge of life, green and new like the forest after a rainstorm, passed between them, then faded again. Still not enough. He frowned, the barest tilt of his lips.

Shouldn’t they have been together, _Steven_ again by now? Why were they still apart? Everything was so much, so _loud,_ he couldn’t _think._ The weight of his responsibility crushed him, a landslide of gem shards and strawberry battlefields, grinding him to dust, prying his own self from his soul.

More gems tumbled into White’s head; he thought he might have known them, from a memory or a dream. Perhaps he could’ve placed their faces, but there just wasn’t _time._ He needed to be _whole,_ or if not that, then to sustain his human half. His other’s pain ran through him as if it was his own, the fear, the sense of death that accompanied it potent and wild and _primal_ in a way he didn’t truly understand, but needed to correct. He breathed his other half in, the sweet-sickly scent of _Steven_ , carving a hole within him and filling it at once.

He blinked; Steven was looking at him. More words spilled from his other’s mouth, just as incomprehensible as the rest. They buzzed through the air like bumblebees, aimless and uncoordinated, a haphazard waste of breath. Breath his human half needed.

Staying here was pointless. He dropped his shield, stepping back. Instantly a swarm of gems (and one human) descended upon them, chattering and reaching- His shield went back up, this time hovering just above the ground. He paused, turned, then stepped again, his shield moving with him, forcing the gems surrounding him to part.

Steven was not happy with this development, now physically trying to remove himself from his arms. But he was not about to let himself go, just so he could start _dying_ again. His human half was in _pain._ He was _suffering._ He had to _fix_ this.

He stepped into the air, walking on intangible steps to the throne dominating the room. Shouting trailed in his wake, some words comprehensible, others not. The loudest from the two diamonds. Yellow and Blue, clinging to the other like two sides of the same coin. All of them irrelevant. His power was great, but not unlimited; his form was unstable, he knew, unused to being separate from his whole. If he didn’t act quickly, stabilize his other half, there was a chance he might… His thoughts stalled once more, a rush of ice spreading through his limbs. He would hurry.

His eyes searched out the control panel on the chair. Where…? _There._ He stood on empty air, poring over the monumental screen that appeared, the gem glyphs slowly permeating his consciousness. He hesitated a moment, deliberating whether to simply pilot the entire diamond ship back to Earth, but no- that would mean bringing all of these gems- bringing _White_ with them. He set the sequence to separate, directing each piece of the ship - or what was left of them - back to its diamond’s platform.

He dismissed the screen, walking on nothing to the inner iris of the ship’s eye, even as the ship itself began to move. He noted, distantly, that the emotions emanating from the other inhabitants of the ship continued to escalate, along with the noise level, but so long as they didn’t pose a direct threat he placed his priorities elsewhere. Steven came first. Steven would _always_ come first.

He made his way out. Steven’s hands tugged at his hard-light shirt, something resembling pleas bubbling from his lips, interspersed with hot stabs of frustration. He frowned. He didn’t understand what he was saying; _why_ didn’t he understand? Was he damaged?

His steps stuttered for a half-moment, thoughts coiling and writhing in his mind. If he was damaged, what would happen to- He could think later. Right now, he needed to get Steven to safety.

He exited the long iris-tunnel of White’s ship, treading empty space until he was close enough to bubble them into Pink’s legs. He immediately stepped onto the flight-control platform, legs glowing as the ship recognized his authority. He prepared for takeoff, only for Steven to begin struggling in his arms. A shock of pain rolled over him, fizzling like electricity, and he stopped.

Reluctantly, he let his other half stand, not wanting him to hurt himself further. Steven clung to him, gazing into his face. More words poured forth, always more words, an endless waterfall of senseless air. What did he want? What could be more important than being whole again? Than sustaining himself? He stared, trying to find meaning in the thousands of movements and micro-gestures flashing before his eyes. They flitted like TV static, there and gone in a senseless cacophony.

He could feel his other half’s strength waning, even from the simple act of standing on his own two feet; his hand closed on his arm, steadying, only for it to be batted away. Steven was yelling now, loud, hunched over, putting as much space between them as he could while still leaning on him. What did he _want?_

Steven began to tremble. The space between them loomed, a yawning abyss ready to swallow them whole. It was no longer acceptable. He swept up his other self again, ignoring his frustrated protests as he shared his life source with the mostly-human. He could feel the soft relief as he did so, even overwhelmed as it was by aggravation.

A word caught his attention. He rolled it over in his mind, considering, which would’ve been much easier in silence, not that that would stop Steven from talking. He cut the word into syllables, tasting the memory of it on his tongue, sweet and nostalgic and beautiful.

He blinked. “Connie,” he stated, the name taking on meaning.

Steven paused, then continued his tirade more desperately. Connie’s name came up again, and then again. A pattern in the void of empty noise.

He understood, finally; Homeworld was an unsuitable environment for a human. Connie didn’t belong here. Steven was concerned. An easy solution: she would come with them to Earth. She helped them; she was safe.

With a single thought, the outside world revealed itself across the navigation screen. He searched for, then located Connie, standing with other gems at the base of Pink’s hand-me-down ship. He hesitated, realizing another problem.

Steven’s eyes roved over the collection of gems, gesturing weakly. He wanted all the gems to come. Of course he did. He felt his human half’s affection for the motley group. A family, he might have dreamt once.

If it would calm his other half, he would permit it. He could protect them from a few gems. He would protect them from everything.

He enclosed the group in a bubble, transporting them into the ship. Of course, the moment they arrived they brought their incessant babble with them, coarse and inharmonious, a constant flux of noise and emotion. Unpleasant. Grating. Stifling the roses that had only started to bloom in his mind. But he would tolerate it for Steven’s sake.

Steven exchanged breathless words with the group over his shoulder; he adjusted the human to a more comfortable position- for the other, of course. His comfort was superfluous, a pointless variable in an overcomplex equation. If Steven insisted on using his borrowed energy so excessively, however, to maintain a verbal connection that he couldn’t even understand… Perhaps he could make his shield soundproof? Now was not the time to attempt it. He was wasting time.

He restarted the launch sequence, doing his best to block the discordant presence of the others out of his mind. Two steps, then takeoff. Destination: Earth. He took the ship out of Homeworld’s orbit, watching for any other ships or weapons aimed their way, then flicked through the preset operations until he found autopilot. He configured the program, waited for the jump to hyperdrive, then released control of the ship, stepping down from the platform. He made his way over to the wall. It would be best if Steven slept during the journey, but he doubted his other half would calm anytime soon, with the way his emotions strained the very confines of his body, pressing themselves against him in a cloying mass that stuttered his contemplations.

He sat down, settling Steven in his lap, carefully monitoring the swirling mix of organic-light life within him as he prepared for the long hours of spacetravel ahead of them. The long hours of keeping his shield intact, while simultaneously harmonizing the energy transfer between his halves; a balancing act he’d never had to so much as consider before. But it was for Steven, so he would do it perfectly.

Eventually the noise softened; the others seemed to realize he was not about to respond to them, nor was he about to release his shield. Except for Steven, still determined to break his silence. Every few minutes he spoke, a harried brush against the whispers in the background, drowned out by the clashing emotions that permeated every inch of the ship. His other half was in flux, offering a squeeze to his arm as readily as a hand flung in frustration, inevitably collapsing, eyes closed, to rest for a few precious moments. A few precious moments to think of a solution.

After a time, the human- _Connie_ \- sat before them. He watched her. She was safe. She was _important_ ; if she needed something he would attempt to provide it, so long as Steven was safe.

She talked with Steven for a long while, placing her palm on the pink wall separating them. Steven mirrored the motion, and something dark and heavy implanted itself into his consciousness. Steven wanted to be near her. He could feel it, the gravity pulling towards her, away from him.

He looked to the gaggle of gems, keeping their distance, for now. The diamonds were not present; he would not have allowed it. There was no significant danger. He waited another moment, deliberating, then released his shield. It would conserve energy, if nothing else.

His other half’s hand entwined with Connie’s, a burst of surprised happiness lighting up the vicinity, fireflies on a summer night. His Steven leaned forward, breaking contact; he wrapped his arm around his human half’s chest, drawing him back. The noise that followed needed no translation.

Connie scooted forward in turn, into the space formerly claimed by his shield. She looked at him, speaking something softly, betrayed by the flutter of apprehension that burst from her. He clutched Steven closer, eyes never leaving her. Fear made for unpredictability. Unpredictability made for danger. Had he miscalculated?

Steven’s apprehension rose as well, a shaky disturbance of emotion, oil on water. He regretting lowering his shield, but he couldn’t raise it again while his other was in contact with Connie. His gaze came to rest on their hands, entwined, one pale and clammy, the other flush and strong. Something pulled unpleasantly within him; he couldn’t place it.

The one-and-a-half went back to speaking, voices low and glances his way many, and eventually he loosened his grip, realizing, with a shared twinge, that a fist in his other half’s clothes was not comfortable.

And then Steven began to cry.

Oh no.

A tide of convoluted emotion swept over him as his half’s tears fell, and he let him lean into Connie’s embrace, despite instantly tensing over the slight loss of connection. He was not what his human half needed, right now. Not emotionally. What his Steven needed… was water, surely. Crying was certain to worsen his underlying dehydration.

He deliberated, hand on his other self’s back as he sobbed, before surveying the room. No, no, _there._ He formed a bubble around Connie’s pack, strewn to the side (their hamburger backpack was nowhere to be seen), levitating it until it fell next to them, unnoticed by Steven. He felt the gems’ stares on him, the mix of worry and fear that surrounded him at every movement. He regretted, once more, that their presence was necessary.

He reached into the backpack, rifling within until he found a mostly-full bottle. He grasped it, sending the rest of the pack back to its place, smoothing his hand across his other half’s back, then down his arm until he met Steven’s hand. He nudged the bottle against it, finally getting a reaction. Steven looked down at the bottle, then took it, a vague confusion settling for a moment.

Recognition rushed his way, followed by a brief appreciation. Steven drank, wiping tears from his cheeks, followed by another flicker of confusion. More words darted about, sharp and probing, questions he might have answered, had he known what they meant. And then a sigh. Disappointment. A tinge of bitter anger.

Steven leaned back into his chest, burying his head into his shoulder, seeking out the strength he knew his gem half would give. Still, though, his hand was linked with Connie’s- and so it stayed, even as the mostly-human succumbed to exhaustion, and as Connie tentatively leaned close to join him in slumber. He felt her energy against his: tense and alien, a convoluted wavelength of missed emotion. Yet, somehow, simultaneously, strong. Protective. Alike in one way out of a million. Two stars, a million miles apart, yet viewed side by side.

He did not sleep. He waited, watching the gems warily, just as they watched him, a viscous sludge of emotion brewing between them. He would protect Steven, even from them. No matter what.


End file.
